


Biscuits and Gravy

by cookiesfly



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiesfly/pseuds/cookiesfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-season 2. One week. One Hundred and Sixty Eight Hours. That's how long it had been since the funeral; since she had moved back in since they had decided that they should "break up". Callie wanted to thank the Fosters for all that they had done in the only way she knew how - making them her comfort food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Song below is by the Morning Parade, entitled Speechless

_So we fall and we break_  
 _And we make the same mistakes_  
 _Like we always, always do_  
 _And we crawl, intertwined_  
 _Forced apart from the inside  
_ _Like we always, always knew_

* * *

 

One week. One Hundred and Sixty Eight Hours. That's how long it had been since the funeral; since she had moved back in; since they had decided that they should "break up" because there was no way for them to be together at the moment - she had too many things to process and even though she needed him, she needed all of the Fosters just as much. If she was really being honest with herself though, she knew it was because of Rita's words; she knew she had to find a way to love herself before fully being able to experience the love he had to offer. But that didn't make it any less difficult to see him and not be able to touch his hand or feel his body covering hers while their lips...

She was brought out of her reverie by the sound of the oven, telling her that it was done pre-heating. Crap. She was so lost in her thoughts that she forgot to actually  **make** the biscuits. With a sigh, she walked over to the fridge, grabbing the buttermilk and butter and places them on the counter and then goes to the cupboard gathering the rest of the ingredients. The last time she made them all breakfast was when Stef was in the hospital; she remembered waking up at 6 in the morning because she couldn't get the memory of her mom out of her head and just how lost she felt at her passing and how much she wanted to do something for the people who had started to mean so much to her.

She remembered the first time her mom taught her how to make biscuits and gravy. The secret ingredient, her mom told her, was love. When she asked her mom what that meant, she would simply smile and would sprinkle a bit of "love" into the batter and then blow a kiss to the biscuits as they were in the oven. Stef's words rang in her head - though her mom wasn't there, the memories they shared would always remain in her heart.

Thoughts of her mom made her aware of the necklace, hanging casually around her neck. Just as she was getting used to the idea of no longer having it, he brought it to her; she wasn't surprised and if anything she half-expected him to find it. Not only did he help her find Jude, but he helped her find her place with The Fosters and made her feel like she actually belonged. And that's why she wanted to make them breakfast - they had comforted her for so long that she wanted to return the favor. She also wanted to thank them because they had taken her back in, no questions asked and acted as if nothing had happened.

Sure, she had stricter curfews and rules to follow, but she didn't mind it; it reminded her of Girls United. She thought back to the other girls and wondered what they were doing now, probably making breakfast and getting ready to go on another trip. She had surprisingly missed them and wondered if she would have time to visit.

With all the ingredients in front of her, she got to work. Adding and mixing the flour, baking powder, salt, butter, and baking soda in a large bowl. As she finished mixing and began kneading, she heard footsteps and immediately knew who it was. Of course it was him, who else would be awake this early. His hair was still disheveled from the night before and he was still in his PJ's. She had to smile at his appearance. "Good morning, sleepy head."

"Hey, you." He greeted her as he sat down near the counter, directly across from her. "What're you making?" His voice acted like a magnet, leading her to stare up at his face. As soon as her brown meet his green, her breath caught. Has he always had such beautiful eyes? She couldn't remember; the only thing she could see and feel was his glare. In his eyes, she saw the possible normality of the situation - two people living together and one making breakfast for the other. Him surprising her with a delicate morning kiss...she heard him swallow hard as if the same thought went through his head.

They needed to snap out of this, it wasn't healthy and if they wanted to live under the same roof, they both knew they needed to get a hold of their feelings. As hard as it was, she tore her eyes away from his, looking down at the concoction. "Biscuits and Gravy", she responds softly. "I couldn't sleep and wanted to make something for everyone. It's been a rough couple of days and it is about the only comforting thing I can make, so…"

A sad smile crossed his face and she couldn't figure out why. "Well, can I help? I'm up anyway."

"Sure, you can finish mixing the batter; I need to get started on the gravy." She said as she pointed to the bowl, making her way over to the stove to start cooking up the sausages.

They worked in silence, and while it didn't feel awkward, heaviness filled the air. As the sausages sizzled in the pan, she turned around to try some casual conversation, they'd have to get used to that anyway. The sight in front of her made her giggle, which caused him to turn around and look at her with the look of a two year old who had just been caught stealing cookies. The counter was covered in flour and there were splotches of white powder all over his PJs.

"That's not how you do it, haven't you ever made anything before?" She teased.

He feigned being hurt, crossing his arms across his chest, "Of course I've cooked before; I told you I make killer pancakes."

"Killer as in eating them kills everyone? You know that's not really a good thing…"she laughed again and nudged him out of the way, accidentally brushing her arm against his. The brief contact sent shivers down her spine as she remembered how it felt to be in his warm embrace.

As she made her way to the bowl she realized he hadn't made a  _huge_  mess, but also didn't really mix the ingredients well, so she got to work. "I'll just finish this up, why don't you go check up on the sausages?" She said from behind her back, getting the dough to the right consistency.

The sizzling behind her told her that he went to move the sausages around. A few seconds passed and she felt him next to her, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. "Well, if I'm so bad, why don't you teach me?" His said, looking sideways at her, voice still husky from the morning.

"It's really not that difficult," she starts as she picks up a piece of dough, "All you do is take a piece and just, you know, make a small square." He gave her a blank stare that caused her to smile. "What, Mr. Brainiac can't figure out how to fold dough? Try it again."

"I can, I just need to actually  _feel_  how it's done. That thing that you just did" he made a weird gesture with his hands, "I have no idea how you did that."

She raised her eyebrow, giving a silent "Oh please," causing him to sigh in defeat and put his hands back into the bowl. He picked up the dough and started mimicking her actions; well he tried anyway. How he could compose such beautiful music with his hands and yet not be able to make a simple biscuit amazed her. He looked like a lost puppy that just needed a bath.

"Alright, come here," she said, and without really thinking about what she was doing, she shifted, grabbing his hands and moving to stand in front of him so that his arms encircled her waist. As if by reflex, she felt his chest press into her back.

Callie took a breath. They shouldn't be doing this; they both agreed that they would stop.

She couldn't help but relax deeper into him.

They'd been good all week, having casual conversations and even walking to school together without much difficulty. Why was this so different?

She took another breath and felt his chest rise and fall, in tune with hers, his head dropping onto her neck.

Then it hit her. When they interacted previously they were in the company of others, leaving them no choice  _but_  to control themselves. Now, in alone in the kitchen, left to their own devices, things were different.

Her hand moved of its own accord, fingers separating and curling on top of his, entwining their hands; fingers grabbing onto each other for dear life.

They both sucked in a deep breath, as if about to plunge into the ocean. Her whole body felt alive and she felt each point of contact that they shared, from their hands all the way down to the sides of her feet.

"Callie…" He managed to get out. "Maybe this wasn't...we really shouldn't," his voice was filled with tension and longing. She knew he was right, they needed to stop before they went back on everything that they had promised; she mustered all the self-control she had ever had and dropped her hand from his.

He took a breath, cleared his throat and spoke first, "So," his voice was deeper show how. It was as if he was frozen solid by what had just happened, having difficulty doing nearly everything, even speaking. He tried to sound as casual as possible to clear the heaviness of the moment, but his tone betrayed his  
attempt, only making her weaker in her knees.

"What's wrong with how I was doing it?"

* * *

 

_Twenty seconds on the backlog, overtime  
_ _Just twenty seconds 'til you're no longer mine_


	2. Gravy

_He took a breath, cleared his throat and spoke first, "So," his voice was deeper somehow. It was as if he was frozen solid by what had just happened, having difficulty doing nearly everything, even speaking. He tried to sound casual to clear the heaviness of the moment, but his tone betrayed his attempt, only making her weaker in her knees._

_"What's wrong with how I was doing it?"_

She shifted slightly, allowing a few inches of space between them. "The problem is that you are overthinking it," she said over her shoulder. Despite the distance, she could see the outline of his lips. Carefully and slowly, she maneuvered his hand to pick up a small amount of dough and began to move his hands as best she could. "Don't be afraid to be a little rough with it, the dough can take it." His hands responded in earnest to her actions, as if they were dancing and she was the lead. Thoughts of the last time they danced floated past her, and she tried her best to ignore the memory.

She was glad she no longer felt him against her back, the burning in her hands from their contact would have been worse had she been able to feel him breathing. With each biscuit that they made, she maneuvered his hands less and less, up until she was holding her hands on his just for the fact of having some contact with them. There was something about them that drew her in – there was something delicate and yet very dangerous about them; they had the power to both comfort her and undo her at the same time.

"Well, look at you, you're a natural," she teased, removing her hands from his reluctantly. She could already feel something missing as she moved from under his embrace. "You finish these up; I'm going to go…"

"No stay." He interrupted harsher than she expected it to be, his voice no longer husky but scared as if he was about to lose something. "I'll do better if you're watching, I always do."

"The training wheels need to come off sometime, Brandon," her tone was no longer teasing. They both knew that they weren't talking about biscuits anymore; they both needed to stop clutching to each other in the way that they did. But how was that going to be possible?

"I agree, but I've only started doing this, and I haven't figured out how to do it properly yet. I need you to correct me." She simply nodded in agreement. He was right, though they both could no longer be each other's life vest, they would have to let go gradually.

So she stood there as he worked – her back pressed to the counter, leaning casually. She knew he didn't need her to correct him; he just wanted her next to him; to know that, she would always be there for him. And how could she not, he always did the same for her.

Her eyes made their way to his hands again; the gentleness of his actions reminded her of how he played the piano, how they felt against her thigh in comfort that day in the music room, and her waist when they danced, as if she was a delicate crystal. She realized that the tenderness with which he had touched her had expressed his love for her long before he had spoken; the thought made her…

"Uhh, Callie…Earth to Callie?" He chuckled.

"Sorry, what was that?" She needed to stop daydreaming about him.

He turned to face her, a sad smile on his face. "Daydreaming again?" She could tell he hesitated before speaking again."I do that a lot too, thinking about what would've happened if we met under different circumstances." His tone was no longer teasing, and she could see the intensity in his eyes. Why had she done that, looked into his eyes? She was sure he would see through her, see just how much she had been suffering with the same thoughts since Stef and Lena first mentioned adoption. The thought that he was struggling too made her not feel as alone.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he picked up a biscuit from the 15 that had, as if by magic, appeared in front of him and brought it to her for inspection. "I asked if these turned out good." His casual demeanor didn't hide the sadness in his eyes.

She took the biscuit from his hand, being sure not to touch him. "These are much better than what you were doing before; though they are a bit smaller than usual." She responded truthfully. She wondered if he had already known how to make them but faked his ability just so that she could teach him, just so they could share a few more moments together.

Looking back up at him, she noticed that the sad expression that his face held a few moments had been replaced with cheerfulness; he really was proud of the work he had done. "Well, I had a great teacher."

"And as for them being smaller," he said, slowly turning around so that he's faced her. The last time he moved a curl of her hair away from her face she was surprised; this time, she leaned in, causing his hand to curl around her face. Had she been a snowman in Antarctica, she still would have melted at his touch.

"Just because they turned out a bit different, doesn't mean they aren't perfect in their own way."

She felt like a fish out of water. Didn't he know what he was doing to her through? For the second or third time that day, she had lost count, they were no longer talking about the biscuits. She had never seen herself as being perfect – always a burden to others, always just a device in someone's toolbox, but his words had made her realize that there was nothing perfect about being perfect; everyone had their faults but what mattered was being with people who would accept you as who you were, and she wholeheartedly believed that the Fosters were those people for her; after so long, she finally felt like she was at home, but despite that, she still knew that there would still be a part that was missing, but she would have to learn to live through it.

She didn't know who initiated it, but one second they were just standing there lost in thought and the next she is in his arms; she leaned in as if his arms were a lighthouse, bringing her journey weathered heart to safe harbor. His arms reflexively wrapped around her back and neck, cradling her to his chest. Thoughthis wasn't the type of tight hug they were used to, it was the type of hug she would  _have_  to get used to – the type of hug a brother would give his sister. The thought of only being his sister made her stomach drop, but she knew they would have to endure through it or else it would drive them off the road they had been on for the past week, but it was hard, especially when the rhythmic beat of his heart alone made her feel like she was at home, it was hard when she heard him inhale the smell of her hair, as if trying to memorize it.

Speaking of scents, why did he smell like burnt meat? Why was his heart starting to sound a lot like a sizzling mess?

Suddenly the realization struck her and she pulled back in fright, "OH MY GOD BRANDON, THE SAUSAGE IS BURNING," rushing towards the stove to remove the pan from the heat.

Of course she had forgotten about the sausages and she could only blame herself. Whenever she was with him, all thoughts of the outside world faded and there was no other worry in the world. She figured that had her eyes been closed, she probably would've been content standing there, watching the house burn down as long as she was secure in his arms. And that was part of the reason this couldn't work. Despite how much she loved him she knew she had to spend her energy focusing on not only those around her, but also on herself.

"Is everything okay?" Brandon asked, coming around to the stove.

"I think I might have to start from the beginning, most of the pieces are burned and no one likes gravy that is burned." She really was disappointed, not only in herself for forgetting about the stove, but also for wasting food.

"You never know, Jesus probably would, he'd eat anything," he teased and she felt herself lighten up. "Let me help, it is partially my fault that they got burned in the first place," he smiled sadly, but she swore that she could see a small blush fall on his face.

"Sure, go get some more sausages and cut them up, I'll clean this mess."

As she stood there, scrubbing away at the pan, she thought back to the first time her mom had made her Biscuits and Gravy. She was pretty reluctant to try the dish as the two ingredients didn't seem to go well together, but her mom had never steered her wrong so she gave it a try. That first bite was not something she anticipated, in fact, it was the opposite of what she expected, but it was a good surprise.

That first night at the Fosters reminded her of that, of that moment when her mom first suggested she try the weird dish. How was she, the broken girl, supposed to fit into this picture perfect, Lifetime Movie of a family? How was it all supposed to work together? But then he appeared, as if out of nowhere, coming to save the day. He, the boy who had never done wrong, who had been the perfect son and helping her find her place, helping her understand what it was like to be loved and to show it back.

Peaking over her shoulder, she saw him slicing up the sausages and the onions, she knew that she had helped him too; she gave him the strength to break free of his mold and truly become the person he was meant to be. And she realized that her mom had taught her a lot more than how to simply make biscuits and gravy, she had taught her that the best combinations often come from the most unlikely of places.


End file.
